


Bits and Pieces

by hufflepuffsquee



Series: Vox Machina: Inquisition [4]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Crossover, Gen, Vox Machina: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:42:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7213711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepuffsquee/pseuds/hufflepuffsquee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smaller ficlets and drabbles from my tumblr for this AU. This work will be marked as complete but will be updated from time to time. When it updates I will also update the summary with the date the latest drabble was added.</p><p>Latest Drabble: "This One's On Me." on 6/26/2016</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "You Forgot to Say The Magic Word"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival has some words for the Commander of the Inquisition's forces.

“You forgot to say the magic word, Commander.” Percy’s voice is low, eyes narrowed. He stands in front of one of Haven’s small cottages, arms crossed. 

“What?” Cullen splutters, clearly put off by the sight of a man considerably smaller in stature than he standing here as though he was a brick wall. “I merely said I wanted to speak to the mage you brought!”

The corner of Percy’s mouth quirks up and his eyes narrow. 

Had the person standing before him been a member of Vox Machina, they’d have deflated instantly. Instead, Cullen continues looking bewildered. 

“Look, I don’t… I was trying to speak with her earlier and she left. I want to continue that conversation.”

“Yes. The conversation where you openly asked here where you might find the vial of her blood with which you could track her down should she move the wrong way in your presence.”

“I-”

“Blood that, as I understand it, is taken from a mage when they have no power to resist or refuse, often when they are merely children. Tell me, Commander, do you know what it feels like to have a blade taken to you as a _child_?”

“It’s a common prac-”

“Because some of our number _do_. Because some of our number have _seen_  children after such an event. It’s cruel.”

“They are healed by-”

“I was not finished speaking!” Percy barks, “The way your mages are confined is cruel. The way you hunt them down is cruel. The way you made my friend, who I have come to consider a sister to me, feel about gifts she has worked hard to perfect is _cruel.”_

Cullen blinks, a bit startled, and makes no move to reply. 

“Now, I am no fan of seeing cruelty.” Percy says, voice quiet once again. “But fortunately for you, neither is Keyleth. Which is why you only feel my words in this moment, _Commander.”_ Now the title sounds like an insult, coming out with a sneer. 

“All we’re truly here for, in the end, is your coin. We can live without that, losing it wouldn’t have prevented me harming you. Treating Keyleth like she’s someone you can lock in a cage? Making her feel like you wouldn’t hesitate to do that?” He huffs out a breath through his nose, a derisive snort with no sound. “I’d do the unthinkable to prevent you hurting her.”

“You don’t even know me!” Cullen steps forward, pointing a finger at him. “I left that life behind!”

“After you voluntarily lived it!” Percy shoots back, unmoved. “I have spoken with Varric, who saw firsthand the things you stood by for. Oh, you stepped aside in the end, but not until things had become very dire indeed. And now you hold a position of command here. A high rank.”

“Because I have earned it.”

“Earning it hardly means you deserve it.” Percy lifts his chin. “You need to think long and hard about how you see and speak to those in your service. Because what I’ve seen of you so far makes me think that you believe you’re a little bit better than some of us that have ended up under your command. You are not.”

Cullen stares him down for a few long seconds before conceding. 

“May I please speak to Keyleth?”

“You may not.” Percy says, that small and dangerous smile returning. “She has no phylactery, Commander. She is not of this land and she is a druid, free to use her spells as she sees fit. And I will ensure she is allowed to continue doing so. Are we clear?”

“I will speak to Cassandra about this!”

“I’m certain she’ll be absolutely enraptured. Go along, then.”

Cullen huffs off, shaking his head, wondering what the Hell, precisely, just happened.


	2. Something for Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy is working in the Undercroft and receives a visitor.

It’s late in the evening at Skyhold, golden light filtering over walls as the sun slips lower over the mountain peaks. The air is cool, but not yet cold. The Inquisitor had guided them here less than a week ago, and the efforts to make this place into one suitable for their needs had been tireless on all counts. Another dozen people had arrived just today from just south of Haven.

A crowd has built, as it has taken to doing in the scant days they’ve been here, at the Herald’s Rest. Rumor has been spreading across the grounds all day (started by Scanlan himself) that there is to be a minstrel’s duel between himself and Maryan. Most people here aren’t sure what that entails, but the excitement spread by Scanlan’s friends has reached their ears and they are curious. 

Percy is not among the crowd settling themselves in at the tavern. He has seen Scanlan perform many times and, while it is always a treat, he knows what he is missing. Instead, he is down in the section of the Undercroft he has claimed for himself. The smith left ages ago, seeking supper. 

And so Percy sits, bent over a table, dozens of candles lighting his progress as he tinkers. The latest project serves no purpose for battle, but rather a sentimental one. Several disks of metal are on the table around him, and he is working with metal rods so fine they could nearly be needles, heating them to white hot and affixing them to the disks.

On each disk, he is placing a set of initials, taken from a list in front of him that was provided by Ambassador Montilyet. Something for Haven, something to remember, something to carry on what was lost. He was unable to do something akin to this in Emon, or in Whitestone. And he’d wanted to. Desperately. Especially in Whitestone. People deserved to be remembered, and those that came after deserved something to remember by. And he wishes, both for himself and the people of Whitestone, that he had something to remember those lost to the Briarwoods by, something other than the white hair the surviving de Rolos now wore. 

“They remember when they see her. And they remember with the Sun Tree.”

Though the voice that speaks is soft, Percy jumps so badly that he manages to press one of the hot rods against his fingertips, and he swears as he shoves his hand into a bucket of water next to him. He’d gathered it as snow when he began and allowed it to melt, foreseeing this circumstance exactly. 

He turns his head to see the odd boy who had warned them at Haven sitting, cross legged, on the empty table next to him. He’s still wearing the hat and it seems he is hiding behind it, almost. 

Percy blinks, straightening and shaking his hand dry as he removes it from the bucket. 

“Beg pardon?”

He knows that he looses himself as he works, that’s no surprise. But he also knows that he doesn’t speak aloud. Keyleth’s never noted that he did, any way, and he almost forgot she was there when she assisted him. (Not because it was Keyleth, but because his work occupied all of his attention). So how had the boy -Cole, he remembers the name now- known what he’d been thinking about?

“It hurts.” Cole said, as soon as the thought crossed Percy’s mind. “So I can feel it, I can hear it.”

“How?” Percy’s tone is cautious now. 

Cole doesn’t answer, he simply stays put and lifts his head a little so that Percy can see his pale eyes. They meet his with a curious intensity and Percy has no desire to look away. 

“She’s how they remember. You’re how they remember. They don’t need anything to touch, they just need something to know.”

“The people of Whitestone?”

“Yes.”

Percy sighs and runs a hand through his hair, unknowingly leaving several smudges of black in it from his fingertips. 

“They… deserved something proper.”

“They wanted a de Rolo in Whitestone. At least one there. Alive. Safe. They have two.”

“They should have all of them.” His tone is low, hollow. 

Cole doesn’t say anything, but he ducks his head again. 

“They appreciate this. The people here.”  He says at last. “It will mean everything. Thank you, from them. They won’t know how to say it.”

It takes Percy by surprise that a lump is in his throat, brought on by how utterly sincere Cole’s tone is. He doesn’t understand this boy, he doesn’t know what he is or how he knows the things he knows. 

What he does know is that something in his chest seems to have loosened. What he does know is that it’s been confirmed that what he is doing, what little he _can_  do, matters. 

“I… Thank you, Cole.” He rasps. 

“Should I leave?” Cole tips his head to the side, the hat accenting the motion in a way that’s amusing. 

“You don’t need to, no.”

“I can watch? I would like to watch.”

“Yes.” Percy nods. “Just… please. Don’t startle me again.”

“I won’t.”


	3. Can We Pretend I Didn't Just Say That?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Keyleth spend some time together.

“Can we pretend I didn’t just say that?” Keyleth squeezed her eyes shut, hearing Dorian laugh softly next to her. 

The pair were in Skyhold’s library, Keyleth seated on the floor with several books piled around her. Dorian had come over from across the tower, away from his favored nook, to see if she needed help finding anything. An offer that had turned into a friendly conversation, which had come to a bit of an abrupt halt after Keyleth had mentioned the only other necromancer she’d ever encountered.

“I don’t mind,” Dorian said, leaning back. “Just so long as I don’t _actually_ remind you of this… What did you say her name was? I can’t be that similar, given that I’ve never attempted to kill any of you, much less nearly succeeded.”

“Lady Delilah Briarwood. And, no,” She shook her head, cheeks still hot, “You don’t, honestly. Just the… necromancy. And even that’s done differently.”

“Differently in what way?”

“Yours has more flourish.” 

Dorian grinned, practically preening under what he’s chosen to perceive as a compliment. “Thank you.”

“You do remind me of someone, though.” Keyleth said, head a bit to the side. 

“Oh?” One brow raised. 

“A wizard we know. He owns the shop we prefer to buy magical items from, Gilmore’s Glorious Goods.”

“I suppose I am reminiscent of the Glorious Gilmore himself?”

“Of course.”

“In complimentary ways, I should hope.”

“The best.” She laughed a little, feeling the heat finally fading from her face as the embarrassment left her. “I really am sorry about the Lady Briarwood thing…”

“Nothing to worry about, darling.” Dorian waved a hand. “I am a Tevinter Altus, on my way to becoming a Magister. Meaning that most people assume I’m much like the individual we’re seeking to defeat with this Inquisition. People think worse of me for that than my preferred arcane talents.”

Keyleth looked at him, holding back giggles at his personality. He had so much flare to him, it was impossible not to be fond of it.

“What’s the Imperium like?” She asked, expression so open it made him pause. he was half-elf, and looked elf enough for it to make all the difference in the world in his home. Even her considerable magics might not have been enough to grant her any sort of safety.

“If I start to explain all that, we will be here a very long time.”

“I don’t mind.”

He looked at her, considering, before conceding and beginning to explain, the two staying late into the night as they discussed the similarities and differences of their homelands.


	4. You Want Me To Do What?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vex has an idea and Bull thinks it's more than a little crazy.

“You want me to do what?” Bull turns to Vex, the visible eye wide. 

“You heard me just fine, Bull!” Vex replies, launching off another arrow before ducking back behind the pillar she’s taken cover behind, a fresh wave of lightening from the desire demon missing her by inches. “We’re cut off from anyone else and this works, I’ve done it before.”

“Yeah, just randomly trust crazy magic crap.” He grumbles, shaking his massive horned head. 

“Bull!”

“Alright!” He clutches his axe with resolve before holding out his hand. 

As Vex removes Raven’s Slumber from her neck, she hears Trinket roar and slam against the barrier to their right again. Getting into this Keep had been an absolute bitch of a situation, and it was worse now they’d found Imshael. The group was all hiding behind pillars surrounding an open area, many of them incapacitated. Bad News had misfired so badly that the resulting explosion had knocked Percy unconscious, Sera is out of arrows of her own, and Dorian has Kerah under a protective bubble that he forces himself to maintain as Pike heals the fallen Qunari.

The crystal touches Bull’s hand and Vex has a brief glimpse of his puzzled expression as he flashes into it.

Taking a breath and bracing herself, Vex dives and rolls out into the open, snatching the fallen broomstick. In the same fluid motion, she mounts it and soars up, circling the demon. He roars and shoots an arcane blast of energy to her, which clips her shoulder. She hisses against the burn, clutching the broom tightly, grateful that Percy completed his improvements. She stays on securely, surging forward to pass over Imshael, Raven’s Slumber extended.

With a brief thought from her, The Iron Bull is falling toward the demon with a surprised shout. It takes him only a moment to get his bearings and raise the axe well over his head. As he comes upon the surprised demon, he brings it down.

The two fall with a massive sound and an impact that might well make the ground tremble. Vex lands, her momentum carrying her forward for a few running steps as she leaves the broom behind. As she slows, she nocks another arrow, waiting.

Bull stands upright, chest heaving and a wince on his face. He holds his axe steady, staring at the demon, which does not move. Satisfied that Imshael is downed, Bull stares at Vex with one eye wide.

“You’re fucking crazy.” He pants, grin spreading across his face. “I like it.”


	5. "This One's On Me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gunslinger and Ambassador share a drink and a few words late in the night.

“This one’s on me.” 

Josephine looks up her papers to the the glass -not tankard- that has been set in front of her. Two fingers of amber liquid are in it, obviously brandy. 

Percy sits on the edge of her desk, a glass of his own in his hand. 

She will admit that she doesn’t know much about the man who has seated himself across from her. Not as much as she’d like. Then again, she doesn’t yet know too much about any member of Vox Machina. Varric’s Wicked Grace nights have been helping. 

Percy usually attends, though does not always play. When he plays, he is quiet and calculated, face utterly blank regardless of his hand. He has never placed any significant bet that he did not win, and Josephine has a feeling he has his eye on besting her next. She wonders if he’ll be able to. Tonight he had swept Varric himself under the table. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” She asks, voice light and one brow raised. She sets her quill aside and takes the glass in hand. 

“To an observant eye from one in a similar position.” He tips his glass toward her and takes a sip. 

“And what position is that?”

“The obligation of nobility and what it keeps you from. Or, rather, who it keeps you from.”

Josephine blinks at him for a few moments before deciding that yes, the drink is a spectacular idea. She takes a sip -Antivan. Top shelf. Something Varric likely kept hidden away and that took much gold to obtain even in a small amount from him.- before she speaks. 

“Who is your family, Percy?”

One corner of his mouth twitches up. 

“Though we are not as prominent as we once were, I am of the de Rolo family in Whitestone. And while I had several other siblings who bore most of the burdens of inheriting Lordship, knowledge of the duties and expectations of being titled never did escape me.”

Josephine nods, resting her elbows on the table and taking her glass in her hands. 

“Tell me. Is it obvious, or are you simply sharp eyed?”

“The latter. I recognize a familiar plight.”

“Is there anything you recommend?” 

He frowns, swirling his own brandy. 

“Would that I did.” He says at great length. “Were I not a man firmly set in duty, I would tell you to abandon the expectations of titles and do as you like with your life. But that is far easier said than done, particularly when the object of one’s affection happens to have a habit of being in danger often.”

“I had thought,” She said softly, “That learning the truth of him would dissuade me. I had thought all of this would dissipate. It did not, nor does the knowledge that he will only be further out of reach once going through his Joining.”

“I’m here to tell you that, should he have a near-death experience, the predicament will only get worse.” He gives a huff of humorless laughter before taking another sip of his own brandy. 

“Is there anything you do to keep your mind from it?” She asks, taking another sip and then nodding to the glass. “Aside from this, of course.”

“I tinker. I build. I lose myself in ore and alloys and gunpowder.”

“Does it work?”

“Not particularly.”

She can’t help but laugh at the rueful shrug and smile he gives. 

“Am I the only one who doesn’t mind all that much? It’s… Well, it isn’t exactly pleasant. But at least they’re there.”

“I’d take being around her daily to never seeing her again, that’s a certainty. Enjoy him while he’s here.”

“I will.”

Percy rises as he takes the last of his drink. 

“Let me know if we need to do this again some time,” He says, “Perhaps make a proper evening of it. I have a feeling there’s no one else either of us particularly wishes to speak to about this.”

“Not exactly, no. And it really is worth talking about.” She finishes her own glass in a single go, which she somehow manages to make look demure. “Thank you, Percy. It’s… Good to have someone understand. Truly.”

He nods to before turning to leave the study, speaking as he goes. 

“Sleep helps, too, somewhat. It’s late, Ambassador.” 


	6. "Could You Shut Up For Five Minutes?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grog, of all people, tells Morrigan to shut up.

“Can you just… Shut up? For five minutes?”

Morrigan looked at Grog, hands still cupped around her mouth for another shout.

“I… beg your pardon?” She lowered her hands and sparks of arcane energy flew between her fingertips as a response to her irritation.

“Gotta think.” Grog said, kneeling and looking around.

Morrigan let out a snort, but stayed quiet aside from that. The mountain wind swirled around them, driving flurries of leaves across the ground, and Morrigan thought again of how cold the nights were getting now. Kieran should not be out here alone. He’d been gone for hours and Skyhold had been scoured from top to bottom.

Others were searching as well, of course. Leliana had volunteered, but Morrigan was well aware that had been done in order to keep an eye on her. Cullen was out, but his head was as thick as his armor, if not more so. Their best choice, the female twin, wasn’t anywhere to be found in Skyhold. Morrigan had not eliminated the possibility that both her and Kieran being absent was related.  

Grog, for his part, had risen to his full height only to take a few steps in a random direction and kneel again. This time, he brushed aside leaves with a massive hand, brow furrowed in a ridiculous manner.

“What are you doing?” Morrigan asked, throwing up her hands, “My son is still missing, and you’re not exactly-”

“This way.” Grog seemed to have ignored her completely and was striding off to the northeast, toward a copse of trees and well away from Skyhold.

After a moment, Morrigan followed, an irritated curiosity evident in her features.

“What are you doing?”

“Trackin.”

“You…. Can track?” She almost laughed. That was like… Well, that was like Oghren sobering up, or so it seemed.

“Yup.”

“ _How?_ ”

“Grew up traveling.” Hulking shoulders shrugged. “It’s how you get to eat. You track your food.”

Morrigan had no response, as the reasoning made sense. So many of the followers that the Inquisitor had chosen were odd folks, but the party from across the sea was perhaps the most eccentric. Excluding Cole, of course.

“He’s this way.” Grog pointed to the trees when Morrigan did not reply.

“So I have gathered.”

“He’s with Vex.”

“And how,” Morrigan said, “have you managed to figure that this is the case.”

“Trinket.”

“I’m sorry?”

Grog stopped and looked at her.

“You stupid or something?” He ignored her splutter of indignation that _he_ , of all people, would question her intelligence. “Bear tracks.”

She looked down and saw them, then looked back to Grog.

“So a bear came through after him?”

Grog snorted.

“With him.”

“I may not be an expert, but I do not see any footprints of a young boy.”

“No, but they were back there. With Trinket’s and Vex’s. Pay attention.”

This earned Grog a glare that he did not respond to and instead turned to resume his walking.

“So that’s what she calls this beast of hers?” Morrigan followed. “Trinket?”

“Yeah. He’s a good bear.”

Having seen Leliana baby talking to a nug, Morrigan did not offer any judgement on Vex’s choice of animal companionship.

They walked in silence for a span before Grog pointed with a grin.

“Told ya.”

Sure enough, there was Kieran, looking for all the world he was being mauled by the bear in question. Were it not for his peals of laughter echoing in the trees or Vex standing by with a grin painting her features.

“Kieran!”

Morrigan dashed to where her son had, upon hearing her cry, disentangled himself from the paws of the bear. She hugged him to her, ignoring the stench of wet fur.

“What were you thinking? You didn’t tell me where you’d gone, I was frightened to death!” She held him at arm’s length. “What are you _doing_ out here?”

“Lady Vex’ahlia was telling me about her friend.” He pointed to the bear, a shy smile on his face. “I want a friend, too, Mother. Like him.”

“You are _not_ befriending a bear.” Morrigan chided.

“Not a bear.” Kieran shook his head. “I want a fox.”

“A…. fox.” Morrigan looked to Vex, stern glare not seeming to phase the half elf as she shrugged with so much faux innocence.

“And why did you not tell me you were going with her?”

“She said she would tell you.” He frowned and looked to Vex. “You did, didn’t you?”

“I got so excited about spending time with you, little man, that I forgot to let your mother know.” Vex shot Grog a wink that did not go unnoticed by Morrigan.

“Well.” Morrigan stood, a hand on Kieran’s  shoulder. “I thank you for spending time with him, but I think-”

“I think ‘s good for him.” Grog interrupted.

“Your input is appreciated, but-”

“No, really.” Grog tried again. “Think about it. I mean… you worry about him, right? So get him a friend with good teeth and claws to protect him. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“He is… I am more than…” Morrigan frowned, considering, and finally let out a long sigh. “Much as it pains me, you are… I shall take your words into consideration. Is that agreeable?”

“You saying I’m right?” The way Morrigan spoke often went far and away over Grog’s head.

“I’m saying you might be right, yes….”

Grog nodded, seeming pleased with himself, before kneeling with his back to Kieran.

“Let’s get back, then.”

With such enthusiasm that Morrigan knew this was not the first time this had been done, Kieran whooped and jumped onto Grog’s back. The barbarian adjusted him and then took off at a dead run, the bear galloping on behind while Morrigan watched with her mouth agape.


End file.
